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"Sterile? Void of personality? Full of people who care about the color of their neighbor's house more than anything else?" My jaw tenses. So much for breezy conversation.
I have nothing against Orange County in theory. It's gorgeous, safe, and filled with perfectly remodeled shopping centers. But it's also filled with people like my parents who prioritize keeping up appearances over everything else.
"You adore it," he teases. "Planning on buying one of those new condos by the Irvine Spectrum?"
I shake my head.
"Your parents still live there?"
I clear my throat. Talking about my parents is sure to drag this conversation into dark and heavy territory. I don't even talk about them with Kara. I'm not about to share this with Miles.
"I don't like to talk about my family," I say.
He nods with understanding. "Where are you going to medical school?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The decision is still weighing me down. Staying near home, in southern California, doesn't feel right. Going across the country doesn't feel right, either.
Miles leans closer. His eyes pierce mine. "I was inside you an hour ago, but your med school applications are too personal to discuss?"
I can't place his expression. His voice is light, like he's joking, but that doesn't feel quite right.
"Excuse me." He stands and makes his way to the bathroom.
My back is in knots. I don't know how I'm supposed to act with him. We're friends, but we're having sex. It's confusing.
I dig my phone out of my purse. Kara hasn't responded to my texts with any more pleas for information, and I'm not sure I'm ready to hand anything out. My emails aren't particularly interesting. Mostly stuff about class. One horrible, two-week-old email from my parents attempting to arrange Thanksgiving break.
I need to find a way to make that visit less horrible.
Anything will do.
I rack my brain for ideas as I put my phone on silent and return it to my purse.
The server stops at our table. I order a coff
ee for me and a water for Miles. I have no idea what he likes. Hell, I know almost nothing about him. He's arrogant. He's an amazing singer. And he went through something awful that tore his heart to shreds. He must have to write In Pieces.
But it's none of my business. We're having fun, no serious feelings involved. I take a deep breath and perfect my I'm having such effortless fun expression. It's terrible.
Miles returns from the bathroom as the server drops off my coffee. He orders his own coffee and settles back into his seat. His eyes pass over me like he's picking me apart.
My cheeks are warm. Hell, they're burning up. "I shouldn't be so defensive, but I… I've never done anything like this before."
His eyes find mine. "It's simple really. We have fun."
I stir milk and sugar into my coffee. "Nothing is that simple."
"This is. We have amazing sex, we talk, we eat, we go to shows and make out backstage. When it stops being fun, we part ways."
"If you're adamantly anti-commitment, why do you want a fuck buddy?" I ask.
"Thought I'd try something new." His eyes connect with mine. "And I like you."
"It's that simple?"
He nods. "Why do you want a fuck buddy? Can't make it to twenty-one without fucking unless you're avoiding it."
"You're that hot," I tease. "So hot I lost my mind."
